My Souls story barely scratches the surface of the life of Harrison Not Ford, so I asked a couple of his friends to share their stories, too. If you have a story or memory you want to share, please add to the comments. Here’s the link to Harrison’s Souls story.

From Bob McLaughlin

When the obvious becomes the intersection of two lives.

It’s a crowded restaurant, I watch as he works way into the room, Boston Red Sox cap firmly in place, careful not to bump into anything as he finds just the right perch to place his backpack-like case at our table.  As he sits, he carefully adjusts the case as if it were a delicate living being.  A nearby patron asks; “is that a guitar?”.  I’ve heard his response to this question many times and anticipate how this interaction will progress, as have others, in an opportunity to make a new friend.  Connecting with others and sharing his life experiences then somehow finding that they have something or someone in common.  He never opens the guitar case and his answer is always;  “It’s not a guitar it’s a conversation starter, by the way, where are you from?”

My friend, Harrison “Not Ford” Gruman. 

From  Ted Dial

My friend Harrison.  Harrison Gruman, an INDIVIDUAL.  There is only one of him.  He is and he occupies the quintessential intersection  between Tarzan, Indiana Jones, and the Dalai Llama.  Wild by nature, yet kind and spiritual and generous to and with all.  And the “all”  here is a high quantity, given his ability to connect.  He never meets a stranger and brings to everyone a dose of optimism, a good sense of humor, some of which may be said to be cheerfully outside the norm.  The result is moments that are never without some laughter and some memories.

In a world of too much conformity, it makes sense that my longest friendship is with Mr. Non-conformist, the INDIVIDUAL, Harrison.  We met 51 years ago in Thomasville Al where we came from different schools to work in The Thomasville Human Resources Center with patients, most of whom were mentally disabled and a good number of them had various degrees of psychosis and other disorders.  Some particular personalities that Harrison, in all these years since, has eternalized in my mind with his reminiscences and yes, some skillful impersonations that are effectively endearing with his/our respect for them and their dignity and plight.

Thomasville provided unusual conditions in which to meet.  Harrison lodged himself in a house next door to ours.  Lodging was provided by the Center.  I ran out of milk one day early on, Harrison said go over to my house, the door is open, the milk is in a jug.  It tasted weird.  I told him later, he said it’s goat’s milk, naturally.  He introduced me to Alan Watts’ books and to Baba Ram Doss (Richard Alpert). “ Be here now” was Harrison’s mantra between riding his bicycle tremendous lengths, then meditating, then playing his guitar, then running 5 miles and then a little later, running another 5 miles. (note he also did this later after moving to Mobile where he lived 5 miles from the university) .  Yet during the first month there in Thomasville, I had not been fully convinced of his complete individuality.  I thought mostly that he was older and had been around more.  Then, one Saturday, he said “we’re off tomorrow, Sunday, why don’t you and Sandy come out to a great place out in the wilderness I’ve found with this big creek rushing through and over rocks and there is cliff beside it where it makes a bend. It’s a great place out there.  Just go out this two-lane county road westward for 46.2 miles and pull over and park on the right just past where the road crosses a culvert.  I’ll be there at 2:00.  Go across the ditch and up the bank and then you’ll see a trail out into the woods and follow it to the creek.” So Sandy and I drove out there, and we didn’t see his 60’s Volkswagon hippie van.  We parked in the grass on the side of the road, crossed the ditch, had trouble seeing  a trail, but it was there, barely.  We walked a good way into the woods and figured that Harrison was on his way and would come out there and find us. We came upon the creek and we were up high on that cliff where we saw Harrison’s bicycle.  Looking down from the cliff,  there was that creek we began to hear a moment before arriving on the edge.  Down there was Harrison in that creek, immobile like a statue.   He was slightly crouched down very tensely in a ready position, perfectly still as if ready to attack.  He was buck-naked.  Water came to about his knees.  One hand stretched out horizontally and downward a bit with his fingers wiggling for the purpose of distracting and mesmerizing something.  His other hand tensely pointed at the water to jab into the water with amazing quickness.  We were up there staring at him.  He didn’t see us. We couldn’t believe that we were standing there, looking at this naked warrior with long red hair catching water snakes with his bare hands.  Holy shit.  Needless to say, that moment was when we knew we were dealing with an INDIVIDUAL.  

Through these 51 years that followed, it would be impossible to count how many times my comrade and I have gotten together and had a good time. It would take a week to tell just a portion of the stories through the years. 

A few years ago, on one of his motorcycle drive-throughs, he visited Renee and me in Mobile.  As usual when Harrison visits, stuff starts getting done.  Cars washed, grass cut, kitchen cleaned, dishes washed.  Renee and I were talking about our perceived inconvenience of not being able to put Molly (our cat) in the back part of the house out of the way for certain events.  There was a doorway and when we put a child’s gate there, she just jumps over it.  Can’t put a regular door because we want to see through there and let the AC air pass through.  By the end of the next day, we discover that Harrison has made a full size cat door with handsome vertical lattice boards that we can see through and it’s on hinges and latches.  He saw my  tools and some lumber in the garage and spontaneously fabricated the door and installed it.   This is just an example of hundreds of similar feats and moments in time. 

Harrison could write a powerfully entertaining story-book and include his many friends and his adventures with everyone.  But he is and has always been far too busy “being here now”  and he has those feet moving non-stop. He’s eternal, he’s in motion.  He really lives and accomplishes what the rest of us mostly just talked about in the 60’s and 70’s.  We talked of “getting back to the land”.  He really did it by making a career in the Park Service and spending his working life in the wilderness, in most of the national parks in the country.  Back when we talked about bodhisattvas, those who know him know he’s the closest thing to this concept we can know in our western culture.   Naturally, I think about him quite a lot.

Cheers!

Ted